Chapter 2
I did not trust him.
That was the first thing I need you to understand.
When Razor laid his vest on the table and said I would not sleep behind a gas station again, part of me wanted to collapse from relief.
The bigger part wanted to run.
Adults made promises when they felt guilty.
Then guilt faded.
Then you were still hungry.
I had learned that fast.
So I backed away from the booth, clutching Dad’s jacket closed with both hands.
“I don’t need anything,” I said.
My voice sounded small.
Razor’s face tightened, but he did not move closer.
“Yes, you do.”
“No.”
Caruso wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm.
“Emily—”
I flinched at my name.
I had not told him.
He noticed.
“Your father talked about an Emily once,” he said softly. “Years ago. I thought he meant a niece.”
My throat closed.
Dad had talked about me.
Not enough for them to find me, maybe.
But enough that I had existed somewhere outside our tiny apartment.
The waitress came back with water and a plate.
A burger.
Fries.
Extra ketchup.
I stared at it.
“I can’t pay for that.”
She set it down anyway.
“Then don’t.”
My stomach twisted so hard it hurt.
I wanted to eat like an animal.
I forced myself not to.
Razor looked over his shoulder.
“Everybody sit down.”
Nobody argued.
That scared me too.
Power always scared me.
He slid into the booth across from me, leaving space.
Caruso sat at the end.
The waitress stayed nearby like she had appointed herself my guard.
Razor’s voice lowered.
“Tell me your full name.”
“Emily Marisol Rodriguez.”
Caruso breathed out.
“Marisol was his mother’s name.”
I nodded.
“Dad said Grandma Marisol could scare grown men with one eyebrow.”
Caruso laughed once, broken and wet.
“She could.”
The laugh made something ache inside me.
These men knew pieces of Dad I didn’t.
And I had pieces they didn’t.
It felt unfair.
Razor leaned forward.
“Where have you been staying?”
I looked at the plate.
“Places.”
“Emily.”
“The gas station sometimes. Behind the car wash if it’s raining. A shelter downtown when they have beds.”
“How long?”
I picked at a fry.
“Six months.”
His jaw flexed.
“What about family?”
“No one.”
“Your mother?”
“Gone.”
“Name?”
I looked up fast.
“Why?”
“Because if she’s alive, somebody should know you’re on the street.”
“She knows how to disappear.”
“What’s her name?”
I hated saying it.
“Vanessa Larkin.”
Razor and Caruso exchanged a glance.
Not recognition.
Concern.
Razor asked, “After your dad died, who handled things?”
“Some lawyer. Mr. Bell.”
Caruso frowned.
“Harold Bell?”
I nodded.
“He said Dad didn’t have much. Said there were debts. Said the club stuff wasn’t my concern.”
Razor’s face went flat.
“What club stuff?”
“I don’t know. Papers. Maybe insurance. He gave me Dad’s jacket and a box of pictures.”
“Where’s the box?”
My stomach dropped.
“In storage.”
“Where?”
I looked away.
“It got auctioned.”
Caruso cursed under his breath.
Razor’s hands curled into fists on the table.
He saw me watching and opened them slowly.
“Did Bell place you with anyone?”
“For a while. Foster care. Then a group home. Then I ran.”
The waitress whispered, “Oh, honey.”
I hated that word sometimes.
Honey.
Sweet thing.
Poor thing.
Temporary thing.
I picked up the burger and took a bite because I could not stand talking anymore.
My body betrayed me.
One bite became two.
Then five.
Tears ran down my face while I ate.
No one commented.
That kindness hurt more than pity.
When the plate was almost empty, Razor stood.
“I’m calling Maria.”
Caruso nodded.
“Good.”
I stiffened.
“Who’s Maria?”
“My sister,” Razor said. “She runs a youth shelter and knows every social worker worth trusting in Fresno County.”
“No.”
He stopped.
“No?”
“I’m not going back into the system.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“That’s what adults mean when they say social worker.”
Caruso leaned forward.
“Kid, you’re sixteen.”
“I know.”
“You can’t just sleep outside.”
“I did.”
The words came out sharper than I meant.
His face softened instead of hardening.
“That doesn’t mean you should have had to.”
I looked down.
Silence gathered again.
Then Razor took something from his pocket.
A phone.
He placed it on the table and slid it toward me.
“Call whoever you trust.”
I laughed.
It sounded ugly.
“There isn’t anyone.”
“Then listen while I call Maria. You decide after.”
I wanted to refuse.
But the burger was warm in my stomach, and my hands had finally stopped shaking.
So I nodded once.
He called on speaker.
A woman answered on the second ring.
“Jason, if you’re in jail, I’m not coming until Monday.”
Razor closed his eyes.
“Not funny today.”
Her voice changed.
“What happened?”
He looked at me.
“I found Ghost’s daughter.”
Silence.
Then Maria whispered, “Daniel had a daughter?”
“She’s sixteen. Homeless. Wearing his First Nine jacket.”
A sharp breath.
“Where are you?”
“Rosie’s.”
“I’m on my way.”
“No police,” I said quickly.
Razor repeated it.
“No police unless she says.”
Maria answered, “Understood.”
The call ended.
I stared at Razor.
“You’re really Jason?”
He almost smiled.
“When someone is mad at me.”
“Why Razor?”
Caruso snorted.
“He used to shave with a knife to look tough.”
Razor glared at him.
“That is not the story.”
For one second, the room felt human.
Then the diner door opened.
A man in a cheap gray suit stepped inside.
I knew him immediately.
Harold Bell.
Dad’s lawyer.
He scanned the room, spotted me in the jacket, and froze.
Then he smiled.
“Emily,” he said. “There you are.”
My skin went cold.
Razor turned slowly.
“You know this man?”
I gripped Dad’s sleeve.
“He’s the one who said my father left me nothing.”
Bell’s smile tightened.
“Now, that is a complicated legal matter.”
Caruso stood.
So did Razor.
So did every biker in the diner.
Bell took one step back.
May you like
Razor’s voice dropped.
“Then explain it.”
